


A Not-Fairytale

by sailorstkwrning



Series: a not-fairytale 'verse [1]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, The Used
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 21:36:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorstkwrning/pseuds/sailorstkwrning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, in an amorphous medieval era, the countryside is awash in reivers and raiders, and Ryan Ross is a plucky orphan who has been put in charge of the laird's pigs. His friend Jon Walker is in charge of the sheep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Not-Fairytale

**Author's Note:**

> Contains offscreen violence, non-life-threatening injuries to characters, Ryan Ross in a cage, hangovers and an instance of bloody medieval warfare.

Once upon a time, in an amorphous medieval era, the countryside is awash in reivers and raiders, and Ryan Ross is a plucky orphan who has been put in charge of the laird's pigs. His friend Jon Walker is in charge of the sheep.

One night the laird's stately home is beset by reivers and Ryan escapes notice by hiding with his pigs. When he finally comes out Jon and the sheep are missing and the courtyard is full of dead people. The laird is dead or run away.

The dead people are very upsetting, and so is Jon being missing, but Ryan doesn't have anywhere else to go. Also the countryside is full of armed men. So he stays where he is, though he does take the liberty of washing the pig-stink off in the laird's tub and sleeping (gloriously alone!) in the laird's bed.

Ryan's starting to get bored by himself and also he's almost out of food when he hears the clatter of hooves and men shouting in the courtyard. They're bellowing in a language he doesn't know, which means raiders, not reivers. He's essentially trapped in the laird's apartments. Then he hears boots on the stairs and armor clanking. He dives into a nearby dog cage (the laird spoiled his mastiffs) and yanks the door shut behind him.

There is more bellowing in the corridor, and then a very tall man comes into the room. He has blond hair and is wearing a big sword. He doesn't look very happy. Ryan holds his breath and tries to become invisible, but it doesn't work. The man sees him. They stare at each other for a moment, and then the man yells something that makes a third man come in the room. The new person is much tinier and has dark hair, and doesn't seem to be armed.

He crouches down in front of the cage and Ryan scuttles further back. The blond man says something that sounds like "Bren Dawn" and the little dark one turns around, so Ryan guesses that must be his name. They have a conversation that sounds like gargling to Ryan, and then Bren Dawn turns around and gargles at Ryan.

Ryan shakes his head. Bren Dawn frowns, then tries again in what Ryan eventually realizes is Latin. Ryan shakes his head again, but he shuffles towards the front of the cage. If Bren Dawn is a priest that explains why he isn't armed, and furthermore priests are technically not supposed to kill people.

Bren Dawn smiles at Ryan and the blond man makes some more gargling noises. He's taken his hand off his sword, though, and he doesn't move when Bren Dawn unlatches the cage and backs up so Ryan can crawl out. Ryan sits on the floor, not sure what to do. The tall one crouches down in front of him and mimes eating something.

Ryan bites his lip; there's enough to last him for another couple of days, but armed men are like locusts. Still, he isn't dead. He stands up and leads them to the cellars.

The next couple of hours are a blur. There are a lot of men and a lot of horses and the big blond one has Ryan running all over the house tending to their various needs. By the time everyone gathers in the great hall at sunset, Ryan is exhausted. The men have filled the benches, so Ryan finds a mostly clean patch of rushes to sit on while he eats his dinner. Having a fire in the big fireplace and the hall full of people again is actually almost comforting, even if he can't understand anyone.

Ryan's drinking the last of his beer when someone throwns another log on the fire, and Bren Dawn goes to kneel in front of it. He's holding a lute. The big blond one gets up from a table, a broad, flat drum in his hands, and goes to sit next to him. The initial _bang bang bang_ is kind of scary, but Ryan forgets about that when Bren Dawn starts to sing.

The first song is slow and mournful. The whole hall joins in for the chorus, and Ryan can feel himself tearing up. Before he can get properly annoyed about it the blond one changes the tempo and people start clapping and hooting. Someone starts playing a flute, and then several of the raiders get up and start dancing. They yell and stomp and swing each other around, beards and hair flying everywhere.

They're drunk and not very careful, and Ryan scrambles under a table so he doesn't get stepped on. Eventually he falls asleep.

When Ryan wakes up it's dark, and he's back in the mastiff cage in the laird's bedroom. He tugs at the door and fumbles at the latch, but it's no use, they've locked him in and he can't figure out how to open it from the inside. Annoyed, he rattles the door again, and someone gargles in the darkness.

Ryan lets go of the door and scrambles for the back of the cage. It really isn't that bad; there's a soft pillow, and enough room for him to curl up comfortably. There's some rustling and some more gargling, and then a flare of candlelight. Ryan hears the low swish of robes on stone, and then the big blond one appears out of the darkness. He's a lot less scary in his nightshirt. Ryan scoots forward and rattles the door again. The blond one shakes his head and gargles at him, and it almost sounds apologetic.

Ryan narrows his eyes, and the blond one has the temerity to smile at him. He's really not scary when he's smiling. Ryan glares at him, then makes an irritated noise and flops down on the pillow. There's some more apologetic gargling, and then the light drifts away. Ryan's asleep again a few minutes later.

The next morning, though, it's Bren Dawn who awakens Ryan by rattling the cage doors and waving a honeyed oatcake under his nose. Ryan sticks a hand through the bars and grabs it (Bren Dawn's eyes go comically wide) and eats it quickly. When he's done they sit and stare at each other for a moment until Ryan points at his privates and then at the corner of the bed where the necessary pot is hidden. Bren Dawn bites his lip and Ryan's heart sinks, but then Bren Dawn opens the cage anyway and scoots backwards, and Ryan bolts out before he can change his mind.

Bren Dawn disappears briefly while Ryan is occupied with his ablutions. When he comes back he's carrying a plate full of oatcakes and two tankards. He sets everything on the trunk at the end of the bed, and kneels down next to it. Ryan huddles by the window, not willing to get that close to the cage again.

Bren Dawn hold up an oatcake and gargles something at Ryan. Ryan shakes his head. Bren Dawn tries again, this time with the tankard, and Ryan just scowls at him.

"Bren Dawn," he says, pointing to himself, though he pronounces it differently than the big blond one, like it's all one word.

Then he picks up an oatcake and points it at Ryan, his eyebrows arching encouragingly.

"Oatcake," Ryan says, understanding now.

Brendawn grins broadly and hands Ryan a tankard, then picks up the other one and gargles something that begings with "slanja" and ends in "hootcack!" at him. Ryan stares at him, baffled, but he doesn't seem to notice. In fact it takes another hour of pointing and naming and puzzling exclamations of "hootcack!" before Ryan realizes Brendawn thinks Ryan's name is Oatcake.

Ryan stops in the middle of naming the bedclothes, points to himself and says his name.

"Reeean?" Brendawn says, and that's close enough. Ryan nods.

Brendawn turns pink, but then he starts laughing, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. Ryan can't help but grin back at him. That is the last of the merriment for a while, though; Ryan is in the middle of naming the things he recognizes in Brendawn's bag of herbs when the big blond one comes in and drags him off to deal with yet more men and horses.

When Ryan gets to the courtyard he finds out it's more than just men and horses. There are also a motley collection of crippled old men, children and pregnant girls waiting for him, as well as a couple dozen heads of cattle and ten very unhappy sheep. Ryan scans the crowd for Jon, but doesn't see him.

Then one of the pregnant girls starts clutching her belly and screaming and the courtyard erupts in chaos. The big blond one starts gargling orders, and Ryan slips away with the cattle, grateful for the distraction. Getting the animals settled takes most of the morning, and he's barely finished cajoling an extra piece of cheese out of the old lady who's taken over the kitchen when Brendawn appears and hauls him off to pick herbs.

Ryan gathers thistles and considers running away. Brendawn is busy digging in the dirt and not paying attention to Ryan; it would be easy to knock him out and make a break for the forest. Ryan picks up a good size rock, slips it into his sleeve and thinks some more. He has a rough idea where the London road is, it's still warm enough that he could sleep outside if he had to, and it's not like he has to say goodbye to anyone.

On the other hand, the countryside is still full of armed men, which means caging food is going to be difficult, and so is finding a safe place to sleep, especially outdoors. Also Ryan's not quite willing to give up on Jon yet. Ryan takes one last look at the edge of the trees and lets the rock slide out of his sleeve.

By the time Brendawn's hunger for plants has been satisfied, it is almost dark and Ryan's belly is rumbling loudly. They meet the big blond one in the courtyard; he's wearing his sword and there are two other men with him. They look like they're about to ride out. He starts gargling angrily at Brendawn and Ryan slips away, keen to get to the great hall before all the food is gone.

That night the hall is noisier, but less merry, and Ryan only has two tankards of beer before he goes to tend to the cows. They nuzzle him with soft noses and whuffle agreeably in his ear when he curls up with them in the byre. The next couple of days bring more people and more animals, but still no Jon. On the morning of the third day, Ryan wakes up to the big blond one poking him with a sword.

Ryan scrambles to his feet, but he's once again he's trapped. The big blond one gargles at him -- Ryan catches a "Bren Dawn" in the torrent of gibberish -- then sheaths his sword and stalks off. Ryan hops over a still-sleeping cow and follows him to the still room, where Brendawn is boiling something that smells vile over a low fire. The room isn't that cold, but he's hunched in his robes and looks even tinier than he did a few days ago.

Brendawn produces a tankard from his sleeve and dips it into the cauldron, and Ryan takes a step back, ready to run. Then the big blond one grabs him by his shoulder and shakes him in Brendawn's general direction, gargling grumpily the whole time. Brendawn almost drops the tankard, and for a minute Ryan thinks Brendawn might hug him.

He starts trying to wriggle away, but the big blond one just tightens his grip and forces Ryan to sit down on a nearby bench. There is some more gargling, and then the big blond one stalks out. Brendawn hands him a knife and some thistles and mimes cutting the heads off. Ryan sulkily does as he's told.

Sometime later one of the pregnant girls brings in a plate of bread and cheese and two tankards of beer, and they eat in companionable silence. Afterwards Brendawn belches loud and long, then laughs so hard at Ryan's shocked expression that he falls off the bench. Ryan blinks a couple of times then smirks into his tankard; he knows how to win this game. He waits a few moments for Brendawn to get up and go back to stirring the cauldron before he lets rip.

Brendawn jumps and splashes smelly medicine all over himself. Ryan laughs, delighted, and Brendawn makes a shakes the ladle at Ryan in mock reproof. Ryan makes his best "Who, me?" eyes and goes back to beheading thistles.

That night Ryan doesn't protest when the big blond one catches him on his way out of the hall and shoves him up the stairs towards the laird's room. Brendawn is already there, sitting at a desk and writing something in a big book. Ryan pulls the dog pillow out of the cage, shoves it into an open space beneath a window, and curls up on it pulling his knees up against his chest and tucking his nose into the folds of his sleeves. It's not as warm as the cow byre, but it'll do. He's almost asleep when he hears wood scraping over stone, and feels the gentle weight of a sleeping fur settle over his shoulders.

After that he spends most of his days in the still room, chopping and slicing and grinding under Brendawn's watchful eye. Meanwhile more and more people are arriving at the castle. The first frost comes and goes, bringing with it the augue, and a steady stream of coughing and sneezing visitors to the still room. The atmosphere in the hall grows tense, and there are some fights. The big blond one gets dragged into several of the brawls, and one night someone someone gets stabbed.

Two days later the big blond one saddles his horse and leads a group of men out of the courtyard. Brendawn watches from the front steps, face set and impassive, his hands hidden in his sleeves. He stays quiet all day, barely cracking a smile when Ryan pretends to stab himself in the hand with a paring knife. Several times Brendawn bows his head and Ryan sees his lips move; he supposes he must be praying.

Ryan hears the clatter of hooves on stone first and bolts away from the too-quiet room. His heart sinks when he sees the men have come back, and one of the horses is dragging a litter.

The men scatter as Ryan passes among them; he can hear muffled, anxious gargling in his wake. He kneels down by the litter and his worst suspicions are confirmed: the big blond one is lying there looking pale and strained. He opens his eyes when Ryan touches his shoulder, though, and gargles at him softly.

Ryan recognizes enough words now to know that he's trying to say he's fine. Ryan pats his shoulder and peels back the edge of the cloak that's draped over the big blond one's body; at first glance there's no blood or obvious broken bones. Ryan drops the cloak just as Brendawn comes running up. He moves out of the way quickly, but stays close in case Brendawn needs him.

Brendawn drops to his knees and the big blond one starts talking, periodically amplifying his comments with a descriptive hand gesture. Ryan gathers they were chasing someone, and they almost caught them, and then there was something with tusks that charged, and something else with a tail that wiggled, and the big blond one's horse bucked him off and into a tree. Perhaps a bush.

Brendawn's face relaxes and he smiles for the first time all day. The big blond one looks both affronted and relieved. Brendawn stands up and gargles at the others until they take the litter down and carry the big blond one up to the laird's room. Once he's settled on the bed Brendawn shoos the men away and motions Ryan over.

The two of them strip the big blond one to the skin. He's covered in bruises and scrapes (and scars, Ryan notices), but the worst is revealed when Brendawn flips him over: his back is full of thorns.

Brendawn inhales sharply and says something that sounds like "Spenthair" followed by a lot of angry gargling. Ryan winces in sympathy for both the pain and the scolding and goes to fetch Brendawn's instruments.

When he comes back, Brendawn has produced a jug of liquor from somewhere and is busy pouring some of it down Spenthair's throat. Ryan hands over the instruments and Brendawn shoots him a grateful look, then motions for him to fetch a bowl from a nearby desk. Ryan brings it over and Brendawn starts filling it with thorns.

Ryan fixes his eyes on the bowl and not on Spenthair's back, and concentrates on trying to follow what Brendawn is saying. He catches a couple of words he knows are numbers, and one or two he thinks might be affectionate cursing, but mostly it's still a jumble. Spenthair is silent the whole time, though his eyes are leaking tears by the end.

When the last thorn is gone, Brendawn pours the rest of the liquor over Spenthair's back. Spenthair arches and screams but doesn't roll away, and Brendawn pets his hair, gargling softly, until he settles. Ryan blinks back sympathetic tears and helps Brendawn apply bandages and roll Spenthair over again.

They don't eat in the great hall that night. A different pregnant girl brings up a tray of sliced meats and sweet puddings, and they wash it down with mouthfuls of liquor. Spenthair falls asleep not long thereafter, but Brendawn stays awake writing for quite some time. Dizzy from adrenaline and drink, Ryan curls up on his pillow and drifts off to the sound of Brendawn's pen scratching over parchment.

The next morning starts when Spenthair wakes up and tries to get out of bed. Ryan wakes up to Spenthair's groan of pain, Brendawn's outraged commentary on the entire plan of action and also a pounding headache. He escapes to the relative peace of the kitchen, but only briefly; he's almost charmed the cook into giving him extra honey on his oatcake when Brendawn appears out of nowhere and drags him back upstairs.

Spenthair is laying on his belly looking pitiful; Brendawn takes no mercy on him at all. He strips the bandages off, pours more liquor over Spenthair's back, and then directs Ryan in the task of putting clean bandages on. Then he stalks off gargling imprecations under his breath. Spenthair's eyes slide shut, and Ryan retreats to his pillow.

The next time Ryan wakes his head is clearer, but someone has moved his pillow so that he's jammed under Brendawn's desk. Brandawn, or someone else who wears heavy black robes, is standing in front of the desk, hiding him. Ryan pulls back a bit of fabric, sees several rows of armor-clad legs, and realizes the room is full of raiders. They smell strongly of horses. He drops the fabric and listens; Spenthair having a serious conversation with someone whose voice Ryan doesn't recognize, and he sounds annoyed.  
It feels like hours before the other raiders leave and Brendawn steps aside to let Ryan out from under the desk. He stands up to stretch and fill his lungs with clean air, and notices Spenthair's grim expression. Brendawn does not look any happier.

There's a long silence, and then Spenthair swings his legs off the bed and stands up. He takes one step and sways a little, and Ryan goes to prop him up without thinking. Brendawn glares at both of them. Ryan can feel Spenthair trembling and tries to help him back to bed, but Spenthair will have none of it. His hand closes around Ryan's shoulder in a death-grip and he takes three more steps before falling gracelessly onto the trunk.

Brendawn's eyes narrow but he doesn't say anything. Spenthair gargles at Ryan, and Ryan looks at him blankly. Spenthair sighs and repeats himself, tugging at his nightclothes and pointing at his bare feet. Ryan only hesitates for a moment before he takes a mostly-clean robe off the top of the pile of clothes on the floor and helps Spenthair into it. Boots and a loose belt are next. When Ryan is finished, Spenthair heaves himself to his feet and uses Ryan as a walking stick to get down to the great hall.

It looks like every man, woman and child in the keep is waiting for them when they get there. Still leaning on Ryan, Spenthair makes his way to the laird's dias and sits down heavily in the laird's chair. Ryan keeps his head down. He didn't have any particular love for the laird, but this feels weird and not-right.

Spenthair clears his throat and the usual rumble of the hall stops. He speaks for a few minutes, and the words are mostly unintelligible to Ryan but his tone is clear: something terrible has happened. Given the number of men putting their hands on their swords, there is probably about to be some fighting. The refugees, on the other hand, all look as baffled as Ryan feels.

Spenthair stops talking and the rumble of the hall comes back, twice as loud as before. The noise stops again when the men start stepping forward and kneeling down, laying their swords at Spenthair's feet. Almost twenty of them have assembled before Spenthair pushes himself up and starts making his way down the steps. Ryan and the men fall in behind him, and the rest of the people fall back to let them through.

Ryan hovers close, but Spenthair makes no move to lean on him again. Instead he leads them all up to a room next to the laird's bedroom where there is a large table. Spenthair settles himself at one end, and the rest of the men crowd around. One of them, perhaps one of the raiders from earlier, pulls a folded piece of parchment out of his sleeve and lays it out on the table. Ryan can see just enough of it to tell it's a map. He inches closer, curious, and one of the men pushes him away.

Surprised, Ryan stumbles backwards and almost falls. Spenthair gargles at the man, then says something to Ryan that includes "Brendawn" and Ryan takes that as permission to leave. But when he goes next door Brendawn is missing. After a brief detour to the kitchen, Ryan finally finds him in the still room, scowling furiously at some mossy paste.

He deliberately trips over his own feet to let Brendawn know he's there, but Brendawn doesn't laugh like he usually does, he just looks more pinched and angry. Ryan sits down on a bench, shoulders hunched, not sure what to do next. Brendawn sighs and gargles something under his breath, then pats Ryan's shoulder on his way across the room. He comes back with two large glass jars. He hands one of them to Ryan, then pulls his cloak on and carries the other one out the door. Ryan scrambles after him, wondering what they're collecting this time.

It turns out to be leeches. By the time they fill the jars to Brendawn's satisfaction, they are both soaked to the skin and Ryan's teeth are chattering. When they come back to the keep, the courtyard is ringing with the sound of swordfighting. Spenthair is pacing between sets of fighters scowling and barking orders.

Ryan stops to watch a two men spar. One is bigger and broader than Spenthair, with blond hair to his waist, the other is dark and whippet-thin, but fast on his feet. He doesn't recognize them, and supposes they must be new. He only gets to see Whippet land a few blows before Brendawn drags him away.

Brendawn steps into the stillroom and stops so suddenly Ryan almost runs into him. There is a dark haired stranger perched on the edge of one of the benches. He looks very tired, but that does not stop Brendawn from erupting into a stream of angry gargling. Ryan sets down his jar of leeches and grabs Brendawn's before he drops it, and takes his cloak off as well.

The stranger waits for Brendawn to finish before he starts talking. His accent is strange and he swallows some of the words, but Ryan can see Brendawn's face clearing, and at the end he steps forward and gives the stranger a hug. Then it is the stranger's turn to scold them, tugging on their wet things and frowning. Brendawn shrugs one shoulder and waves him off, but he does strip off his heavy outer robe and motions for Ryan to do the same.

Brendawn sends Ryan off to lay the robes by the fire to dry. When Ryan comes back the leeches have been put away and Brendawn and the stranger are hunched over a massive book talking in low tones. The stranger stabs at something on the page with one finger and Brendawn steps away for a moment to get the volume he writes in after each patient. Ryan listens for a moment, then fetches one of the bags of thistles and a knife and settles down to cutting them up; Brendawn always seems to need more thistles.

The next couple of days pass in a whirl of clanging steel and increasingly heavy rain. Ryan spends the time shuttling between chopping thistles, grinding moss and finding room for the refugees that continue to stream into the keep. Sometimes he stops to watch the fighters -- particularly Whippet and the Giant -- but not often, as Spenthair has taken to conscripting anyone he catches hanging around.

On the fourth morning it starts to snow. Ryan wraps himself in an old cloak and goes out to deal with the day's first crop of refugees. He's wading through the usual crowd of stooped old men, weary pregnant girls and pinch-faced old women when the Giant and the Whippet walk into the courtyard, dragging someone between them.

When Spenthair sees them he calls the sword-drills to a halt and walks forward to meet them. The Giant and the Whippet drop their quarry on the icy stones. The person -- man -- raises his head, and Ryan realizes he knows his face: it's Jon.

At first Ryan is too stunned to move. Spenthair, the Whippet and the Giant gargle back and forth for a moment, and it's not until they reach down to grab Jon again that Ryan recovers himself enough to push his way through the crowd and throw himself between Jon and Spenthair.

Jon makes a startled noise, and Ryan wills him to be quiet. Spenthair is peering down at both of them, eyebrows arched, and Ryan stammers out the few barbarian words he knows: _please, mine, friend._

Spenthair's eyes widen. Ryan tries again, terrified he's pronounced something wrong and accidentally insulted someone. The Whippet makes a noise that could be a cough or could be a laugh, an Spenthair glares at him briefly before leaning over and hauling Ryan to his feet, and gargling something at the Whippet and the Giant that cause them to lift Jon to his feet and shove him at Ryan.

Ryan grabs Jon's hand and tugs him away as the sword drills start up again. Up close Ryan can see he's filthy, and his nose has been broken since the last time Ryan saw him. Also he's limping and the right half of his body is bulky and twisted in a way it shouldn't be.

Ryan touches it and Jon screams and jerks away. Ryan apologizes quickly and tightens his grip on Jon's other hand, tugging gently until Jon starts walking. When they get to the stillroom there's yet another dark-haired stranger sitting at the table, and he's using Ryan's knife to cut thistles. Brendawn and the original stranger are frowning over a mountain of grubby plants.

"Brendawn," Ryan says, ignoring the interloper for now.

When Brendawn looks at him, clearly irritated at being interrupted, Ryan goes for the barbarian words again: _help, please, mine, friend._

Brendawn's eyes widen just as Spenthair's did, and then he catches sight of Jon and all of the irritation melts away, replaced by concern. He and the original stranger both come around the table, wiping their hands on their robes and asking questions Ryan can't answer.

Jon surprises Ryan by gargling back at them. Whatever he says makes Brendawn inhale sharply, and the second stranger stops his chopping to stare at them. After a beat Brendawn starts peeling Jon's clothes off, and it soon becomes apparent what's wrong. His arm is hanging at an unnatural angle from his shoulder, and his entire upper body is heavily bruised.

Brendawn and the first stranger examine Jon quickly, barely touching him. Brendawn turns and grabs a stirring spoon from the table behind him. He wipes the handle off on his robes taps it against Jon's mouth until he opens up and bites down on it. Brendawn points to Jon's arm and makes some odd movements with his hands, and Jon nods.

Brendawn smiles briefly, then taps at Ryan's chest until he lets go of Jon and sits down at the worktable with the new interloper. He pinches himself, just in case he's dreaming, but Jon doesn't disappear. The interloper gargles at him, but Ryan is too worked up to concentrate on the words.

Meanwhile, the original stranger move around to Jon's other side and held on to his elbow, talking softly the whole time.

"Jherard," Brendawn says, now gripping Jon's arm firmly, and the original stranger goes quiet. "En tree."

Jherard nods.

"An, dhu, tree," Brendawn says.

There's a flurry of movement and Jon howls around the spoon, but when Brendawn and Jherard step back, Jon's arm is back in its socket. (The spoon is in two pieces on the floor, but Brendawn doesn't seem upset.) Jon staggers and Ryan jumps up to catch him.

Brendawn gargles at them some more. Ryan catches the words for "bath" and "bed" and nods obediently, then guides Jon upstairs to the laird's bedroom.

Jon is quiet as they go up the stairs. He moves slowly and he's breathing hard, but he shakes Ryan off when Ryan tries to help him. They are almost to the landing when Ryan hears the sound of running footsteps and boys yelling. Jon steps out of the way, but Ryan just waits. The boys see them and slow down just enough for Ryan to grab their collars as they barrel past. They fall down in heaps of untidy limbs. Ryan ignores their outraged protests, boxes their ears and dispatches them to the kitchen to fetch hot water and food.

The food arrives first: a plate of bread, cheese and sliced meats, and two tankards of rich brown ale. Jon sits on the bed and sips the ale while Ryan drags the laird's tub out and locates some mostly clean clothes for Jon to change into once he's bathed.

The boys finally arrive with buckets of hot water and Ryan is quick to fill the tub, conscious of Jon's eyes on him. He sends the boys off for more water, then helps Jon out of his clothes and into the bath. Jon grumbles a little, but sighs happily once he's actually in the water. Ryan brings the tray of food over and busies himself with putting Jon's things aside to be washed -- or, better, burned -- and turning down the bed. He has so many questions he doesn't know which one he wants to ask first.

He's debating between "Where have you been?" and "What happened to you?" when the door swings wide and Spenthair walks in, flanked by the Giant and the Whippet. They are all wearing swords and Spenthair shows no signs of having fallen into a thorn bush only the day before. Ryan stands in front of the tub, arms stretched out, and prays Spenthair doesn't decide to just run him through.

Spenthair arches one eyebrow and waves Ryan aside. Ryan swallows hard and stands his ground. The Giant steps forward and Spenthair grabs the back of his tunic and yanks him back, gargling something sharp. The Giant flushes but offers no reply.

Spenthair turns back to Ryan and raises his arms, showing flat, open palms. There's noise behind them and Spenthair moves just enough for two boys to come through with more hot water. The Whippet grabs one of them on their way out and gargles something -- he has the same odd accent as Jherard -- and a moment later the boy comes back with three low stools. Spenthair sits down, followed, slowly, by the others, and Ryan reluctantly steps out of the way.

Spenthair gargles a question, and Jon once again gargles back at him. Jon speaks slowly and stumbles over some of the words, but Spenthair still seems to understand.

Ryan only understands bits and pieces of the conversation that follows, but he can tell the news continues to be bad from the way Spenthair's expression darkens. He also catches the word for "men" and "horses," and if Jon's gestures are anything to go by, there are archers, too.

The Whippet leans forward and asks a few questions too, but Jon's answers to those take longer, and he seems to struggle more for the words. Also his voice is starting to sound strained. Ryan is gathering himself to interrupt when the Whippet sits back, apparently satisfied. Spenthair gives Ryan one last appraising look, then stands up and leads the men away.

Jon exhales loudly and sinks down into the water. Ryan stands still, listening, then goes and closes the door. When he comes back, Jon is swaying to his feet, trying to get out of the tub. Ryan rushes to help him, and manages to get him into a clean robe with a minimum of fuss and swearing.

Jon sits down on the edge of the bed and eats some of the sliced meat. Ryan perches on one of the stools and twists his hands in his robes. Jon straightens up and tries to look at Ryan, but Ryan can tell he's all but asleep. Ryan takes a deep breath, stands up, and moves all of the dishes onto the trunk at the end of the bed. Then he pushes Jon's good shoulder until he falls over onto the pillows.

Jon coughs and sighs and curls in on himself, and Ryan covers him in sleeping furs. His questions can wait. Jon starts to snore softly. Ryan drapes another fur over his shoulders, then moves around as quietly as he can, eating the rest of the food and emptying the bath.

Jon sleeps for the rest of the afternoon. Ryan hovers nearby for a time, brushing Brendawn's robes and pressing stray boys into service changing the rushes in all of the rooms on the second floor, but it soon becomes clear Jon is unlikely to wake unless the Last Trump sounds. Ryan tucks the furs more closely around Jon's shoulders, dismisses the boys to the stables, and makes his way to the still room.

He passes through the courtyard on the way, and while it is, as usual, full of men with swords, something doesn't look right. Ryan stops and scans the ranks again, and it becomes clear: Spenthair, the Whippet, the Giant and several of the other men are gone. The drills are being led by hunched old men -- one of them is missing an ear -- and most of the people wielding the swords are half-grown boys.

Ryan smoothes his hands over his robes and walks a little faster.

When he does get to the still room he finds Brendawn and Jherard hunched over a cauldron wearing matching thoughtful expressions. Whatever they are cooking smells vile. The second interloper is still at the table, and sorting the enormous pile of greenery from earlier. He's unbearably slow about it, though, running his fingers over every root and stem like they're made of spun gold. Ryan's knife is laying beside him on the table.

Ryan steps forward to grab it and the interloper pins Ryan's wrist to the table in one sudden, sharp movement and gargles angrily at Ryan. Ryan cries out in surprise and a little pain, and both Brendawn and Jherard turn around.

"Frang," Jherard says, followed by some gargling, and the interloper lets go of Ryan's hand.

Ryan grabs the kife with one hand and goes to smack Frang in the head with the other, but Jherard catches his hand mid-swing and gargles sharply at him. Ryan shifts, trying to yank his hand free, and Frang stands up, clearly ready for a fight.

"Stop," Brendawn says, loudly, and they all freeze.

Brendawn shoves Frang back down on the bench, then walks around Jherard to prize his hand off of Ryan's wrist. Then he takes the knife from Ryan's other hand and stuffs it up his sleeve. Ryan grits his teeth against a protest.

Brendawn makes an aggravated noise and elbows Jherard out of the way. Then he picks a handful of greenery up off the table and holds it out to Frang. Frang frowns and his nostrils flare, and he misses Brendawn's hand when he reaches for it. Brendawn lowers his hand to the table with a gentle thump. Frang's expression clears, and he seems to find Brendawn's hand easily.

Ryan flushes, shame and irritation vying for dominance. How was he supposed to know Frang was blind? Brendawn gives Ryan a stern look and he apologizes as he knows he is supposed to do. Frang's knit fleetingly, and then he stands up and offers Ryan his hand. Ryan clasps it as briefly as propriety will allow -- it's then that he notices Frang is also missing a finger -- and they both sit down at the table.

Jherard is still giving him a baleful look. Ryan hunches his shoulders and scowls at a clump of weeds. He's grateful when Brendawn sends him to the scullery to wash out some cauldrons. He scrubs them thoroughly, cursing Jherard and Frang and every last one of their brethren, until the cauldrons are gleaming and his hands are red and sore.

Ryan does feel a bit better for venting his spleen, though. When he gets back to the still room Jherard's good humor also seems to have been restored. Even Frang is singing softly to himself as he peels apart leaves and stems.

Brendawn takes the cauldrons from Ryan with a smile, and Ryan relaxes further. He doesn't care for the opinion of interlopers, but he does not want Brendawn to turn him out of the still room, or worse, the castle.

After that Brendawn gives Ryan a series of errands that require him to run all over the castle. He's on his way back from one of them when he hears the clatter of hooves in the courtyard. Ryan leans out a window to investigate and sees that Spenthair and the men have come back. The Giant swings down off his horse with ease. The Whippet is slower, however, and even from a distance Ryan can see he's favoring one arm.

Ryan watches for a moment longer, then makes his way to the still room. He opens the door and finds Spenthair and a few of the other men are already there. Frang is moving between them, helping them out of their armor. Brendawn and Jherard are following in Frang's wake, gargling at each other over various scrapes, cuts and bruised limbs. None of the men seem especially badly wounded, but Spenthair looks exhausted.

Ryan sets the jug he had been sent to retrieve on the sideboard, and goes to help Frang. They're struggling with a particularly stubborn set of leather ties when the door slams open and the Giant strides in, dragging the Whippet behind him.

"Mihall?" Jherard says, abandoning the man he's working on and walking across the room to help the Whippet to a bench, gargling anxiously the whole time.

The Giant gargles back at Jherard, but his accent is even stranger than Jherard's and Mihall's, and Ryan can't understand him at all.

Brendawn apparently can, though, because he looks up from the bandage he's tying with wide, startled eyes and gargles a question at Spenthair. There's a long pause before Spenthair answers him, and Ryan can sense the other men are uneasy.

Brendawn starts to ask another question. Jherard interrupts him, gargling angrily at Spenthair, but the Giant interrupts _him_ just as quickly. Jherard narrows his eyes and draws himself up, and all of the men go very still. Mihall mumbles something Ryan can't hear, but it makes Jherard deflate and turn to him. His mouth is set in a tight line, though, and Ryan can tell the argument isn't over.

After that the room is unnaturally quiet, the silence broken by the occasional hiss of pain or muffled curse word. Ryan goes where he's bid, helping both Brendawn and Jherard. He keeps a close eye on Brendawn, who is curled in on himself in a way that Ryan has only seen a few times before, and has come to dread. Gradually the noise level of the room rises again.

It is well past dark by the time the last of the men have been seen to and sent off to the Great Hall to eat. Even Brendawn is starting to wilt, hiding big yawns in his sleeve as he writes in one of his big black books. Ryan is itching to look in on Jon but unwilling to leave if Brendawn might still need him. He makes a production of folding bandages and stacking pots of salve until Brendawn stops writing and waves him off.

When Ryan does get upstairs, he finds Mihall has been put to bed with Jon, and the Giant is standing guard over both of them.

Ryan steps closer to the bed, eying the Giant warily, but the Giant is carving something out of bone and doesn't seem to be perturbed by his presence. Mihall appears to be sleeping. Ryan moves quietly so as not to disturb him.

This time Jon wakes when Ryan touches his shoulder. He accepts a cup of water and drinks it slowly. When he finishes that Ryan helps him stand and walk to the necessary room. Jon moves slowly, still clearly in pain, but much steadier than he was earlier in the day.

When they come back, Ryan settles Jon on the bed and gives him another cup of water and a couple of pieces of bread from the tray that someone had probably brought up for Mihall. Jon nibbles at them, telling his story between bites.

Evidently the reivers had come through the sheepfold, too numerous and moving too fast for Jon to sound the alarm before he was knocked out. They carried him away with the sheep and held him captive for a time. Eventually he managed to escape.

Jon pauses to take a drink of water, and Ryan realizes the Giant has stopped carving and watching them intently. Jon follows Ryan's gaze and shrugs one shoulder, then resumes his story. Once free, Jon had started for home, traveling with some people he met on the road. They were within a days' walk of the castle when they were attacked by raiders.

Jon and a few of the men in the party had tried to fight them off, but there were too many of them. Jon and the rest of the men that weren't killed in the struggle were taken back to the raiders' camp. Most of the captives had been driven out of their homes further north; they were killed outright. Somehow the raiders had figured out Jon was local, and settled on forcing information out of him.

Jon stops again, and took a deep drink of water. Behind him, Mihall huffs in his sleep and rolls over. Ryan stands up and paces back and forth a couple of times, aware the Giant is watching him. Jon sets the cup down and rubs his eyes before he continues.

The raiders rode out several times -- scouting missions, as far as Jon could tell -- before they struck camp and began marching towards the castle. One night they had all gotten very drunk and careless, and Jon and a few of the others had managed to escape.

The other men had decided to take their chances on the road, while Jon hid in a tree, barely breathing for fear the raiders would hear him. He stayed in the tree for the better part of a day; by the time he started to climb down, his fingers were numb and shaky. Halfway down he disturbed a pheasant, or some other bird, and was so startled himself that he let go and fell the rest of the way. He had been creeping around the castle walls looking for a place to sneak in when Mihall and the Giant found him.

Jon takes another deep drink of water and rolls his shoulders, his expression tightening in pain. Ryan looks down at his knees, vaguely ashamed and annoyed for the second time that day. When he looks up again, Jon and the Giant are both looking at him. Jon's expression is amused and inquisitive, and the Giant's glare is as baleful as ever.

"What about you?" Jon asks, kicking at Ryan's ankles. "What adventures did you have?"

Ryan shrugs one shoulder and looks at the floor. Jon prods him again, the amusement in his expression dimming. Ryan sighs and tells him about hiding with the pigs. Jon's grin broadens when Ryan tells him how one of the bigger sows had driven off a raider, and he start to laugh for real when Ryan tells him about waking up covered in grunting piglets and mud.

Ryan skips over the dead bodies in the courtyard and the accidentally locking himself in the mastiff cage. He also doesn't mention how he almost ran away, mainly because the Giant is pretty clearly still listening to their conversation. Ryan is halfway through describing the first feast when the door to the room pops open and Spenthair comes in.

He's leaning heavily on a smaller, dark-haired man that Ryan vaguely recognizes from his forays into the courtyard. The Giant stands up, hand on his sword-head, and they gargle at each other for a few moments.

Ryan uses the distraction to hustle Jon up and out of the room and down to the cow barn. Jon is still very slow, and by the time they get there Ryan can see beads of sweat standing out on his forehead. Ryan finds a spot between the two friendliest cows and makes a extra plump pile of hay for them to sleep on. Jon settles down easily enough, and Ryan tells the feast story until they both fall asleep.

Two days pass. Jon stays in the barn most of the time, alternating between helping some of the girls tend the cows and feeding the cats that come begging for milk. Ryan goes back to the still room and is pressed into service next to Frang, chopping, peeling and grinding plants for Brendawn and Jherard.

Meanwhile, the men are still drilling in the courtyard, and there is a steady stream of visitors to the still room with blackened eyes and bloodied noses. Neither Jherard nor Brendawn make any comment. Ryan keeps his head down and chops as slowly as he dares, straining to catch enough words to figure out what is going on. He can tell the men are restless and eager to fight.

On the afternoon of the third day, Ryan is in the courtyard, filling a bucket with water, when two riders come through the gates. One is fair, and almost as big as the Giant; Ryan thinks there might be ears tied into his beard. The other one is smaller and dark, and the dark, swirling lines on his arms are bright against his pale skin.

Ear-beard bellows a greeting, and they dismount. Two boys come forward to take their horses, and Spenthair and Mihall leave the line of drilling men. There is a good deal of happy shouting, and then the four of them go into the great hall. Ryan picks up his bucket and tries to follow them, but he doesn't get very far before the Giant catches his arm and shoves him towards the still room.

Ryan stumbles, almost spilling the water. The Giant gargles something at the men and the sound of metal crashing against metal chases Ryan all the way down the corridor.

That night there is a feast, including sweet mead and a freshly slaughtered cow. Ryan is lightheaded with drink when the Great Hall fills with the roar of a massive drum, silencing all conversation. Jon's eyes get very wide. Spenthair stands up, and Ryan falls off the bench when he tries to turn around and look at him. No-one seems to notice, so Ryan stays on the floor, clinging to the rushes and waiting for his head to stop ringing.

The drums stop when Spenthair starts talking. He speaks for a long time and is often interrupted by the cheering of the men. When he finishes the hall erupt in hollering and stamping, which only dies down when Ear-beard gets up and walks to the center of the room.

He talks for a while, too, and Ryan thinks he might be telling a story. At one point he unties one of the ears and holds it up, gargling loudly, and the hall erupts again.

The people around Ryan start to move, and Ryan heaves himself back up on the bench just as the drums start up again. Several more men join Ear-beard -- Mihall, the Giant, and Ink-arms among them -- and the drumbeat picks up as they draw their swords. They raise them above their heads for a moment, then, to Ryan's astonishment, they bell out into a circle and start dancing.

Somewhere behind them, Brendawn is singing. After one verse the rest of the hall (including Ryan) joins in. A couple of verses later he falls off the bench again, but this time he doesn't get up.

The next thing Ryan knows Ear-beard is kicking him in the ribs. He kicks back in protest and tries to roll away. Ear-beard just leans down and hauls him up by his robes, shakes him a couple of times, and drops him on a bench. Ryan presses a hand to his head, trying to ease the throbbing, but it doesn't work. Jon, slumped next to him, looks equally unhappy.

Ryan's noisily sick twice, and then Brendawn appears out of nowhere and shoves a mug of ale in his face. Ryan takes it and drinks it slowly, watching Ear-beard kick more people awake. The hall empties out slowly. When Brendawn leaves Ryan follows him, and Jon trails behind both of them.

They go out into the courtyard, where it is colder, and also still dark. There are a few torches burning, casting odd shadows against the faces of the men. There are horses everywhere, stamping and snorting in the chill. Brendawn shoves Ryan and Jon toward two small ponies. Ryan hauls himself up into the saddle with difficulty.

A few minutes later Spenthair rides past them, and they fall in behind him in a disorganized column. The rest of the barbarians follow them on foot. The men are quiet; Ryan, still muzzy from sleep, is confused but grateful. He curls his fingers in his pony's rough mane and does his best not to fall off.

They ride until they come to the edge of the wood. The men without horses glide past them in silent waves, melting into the trees. The rest dismount and lead their ponies into the forest. Ryan slides off his pony and follows Brendawn and Jon, conscious of every leaf crunching and twig cracking beneath his feet.

Brendawn stops them a few yards from the treeline. It's still mostly dark, but there is enough light for Ryan to see the enemy camp spread out on the field on the other side of the trees. There are one or two people moving around, and he can see the faint sparks of a fire.

The men around him shift into a line. For one awful moment Ryan thinks he might be supposed to join them, but when Jon steps forward, Brendawn yanks him back, hissing angrily.

They wait. Spenthair and Ear-beard walk past the line, stopping periodically to cuff men into place. At some point Jherard appears out of the gloom and stands a few yards down from Brendawn, hands tucked into his sleeves and his eyes on the ground. Brendawn looks over at him; Jherard raises his head briefly and meets Brendawn's gaze, but they don't speak.

Spenthair and Ear-beard walk back to the center of the line and draw their swords. The horses whuffle and stamp. Spenthair holds his left hand up, three fingers extended towards the sky. He lowers them one at a time; when the last one comes down, Brendawn and Jherard let out an unearthly noise, and the men in the line take off through the trees and scream their way down the hill.

Brendawn starts walking closer to the treeline while the echoes of his voice fade, and waves at Ryan and Jon to follow him. They watch the battle. Ryan loses his familiar faces to the bloody, muddy scrum fairly quickly, and the crash of steel is almost deafening. At some point the campfire leaps its bounds and the field becomes dotted with pockets of flames. The fighting ends not long after full dawn, when Ear-beard rides an enemy pony out of the center of the fray with not just an ear but an entire head jammed on the edge of his sword. His arm soaked in blood. He turns and faces the battle, roaring defiance, and one by one the enemy drop their swords.

Ryan stares, horrified and unable to move, until Brendawn places a knife in his hand and closes his fingers around the hilt. Ryan looks down at it, completely lost, then back at Brendawn, but Brendawn is already moving, his black robes flaring out in the early morning breeze.

Ryan feels hands at his back; it's Jherard, shoving him forward, forcing him down the hill. Ahead of them, Brendawn is moving among the bodies, harvesting jewelry from the dead and putting the mortally wounded out of their misery.

When they get inside the battle lines, Ryan stumbles and almost falls, overwhelmed by the smell of blood. Jherard catches his arm and shakes him, hard, then wades in after Brendawn. Ryan staggers after them, falling a couple of times as survivors shove past him on their way up the hill. He can hear Jon being sick behind him.

The sun is high in the sky before they finish. There are several of their men among the dead, and more among the wounded, including Spenthair and the Giant. Mihall, Ear-beard and Ink-arms come down to gather the bodies for a funeral pyre. Brendawn and Jherard make litters for the injured, and Ryan and Jon help carry them up to where the horses are waiting.

The next day, there is a victory feast. Spenthair, pale but upright, rewards valiant men with land. A week later, Jherard declares the Giant is well enough to be moved, and they, Mihall and Frang set out for their new farm. Ear-beard and Ink-arms stay a few more days, drinking and dancing in the Great Hall at night, but eventually they depart as well.

Ryan and Brendawn return to the still room, Jon settles down to the cow barn, and they all live (mostly) happily ever after.

A couple of years later, Spenthair steals a wife, but that is a story for another time


End file.
